


Eat your heart out

by wheresthequeef



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Chubby Daria, Episode: s03e10 Speedtrapped, F/F, Fat Character, No Plot/Plotless, Out of Character, Pining, Self-Indulgent, majorly self indulgent actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-06 02:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheresthequeef/pseuds/wheresthequeef
Summary: "You baked this?""Baked, bought. Let's not ruin the moment with a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo."Daria eats cake. Jane watches. Trent and his bandmates don't interrupt.





	Eat your heart out

**Author's Note:**

> I know the audience for this fic is extremely small but I absolutely do not care. Enjoy.
> 
> Edit 6/23/20: This is kinda cringe to reread now but it was mostly just me projecting my feelings about a girl I was crushing on IRL at the time. I've kept it up obviously but like, don't try to firebomb my house if its ooc or or like, bad., (btw she's my gf now so I guess I won :) )

Jane placed the baby pink cake on the kitchen table, the small sound it made bouncing off the linoleum.

"Ta-Da!"

Daria stared down at it blankly, "Um, looks kind of old." The large sheet cake had "Congratulations Daria!" written on it in bright pink cursive.

"Yeah, well, I baked It way back when you took the test the first time."

"You baked this?"

"Baked, bought. Let's not ruin the moment with a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo."

The chair made a horrible screeching noise on the kitchen tiles as Jane pulled it from the table and sat down. Daria was going to eat cake. In front of her. A large one, too. The thought made her face flush.

"You don't expect me to eat all of this, do you?" Daria probed, cutting herself a thick slice. She went to cut another for Jane but was interrupted.

"No, no. But sadly, I ate before you got here. I didn't think you'd pass your test this time."

Daria hmphed in recognition, setting the knife down. "Thanks, I guess."

"Oh, don't thank me," Jane said, waving her hand dismissively, "Thank the Walmart bakery." She watched as Daria took the first bite.

Daria was what Jane's mother would call a "healthy girl", and anyone who wasn't an ageing hippie trying to be polite would call fat. Jane didn't mind, she did the exact opposite of mind, It was cute. Jane hated that word, but it was the only word she could land on. Cute. The mental hurdle Jane had to jump for liking a girl, and for said girl being her best friend, and another one for her female best friends larger size being a plus rather than a drawback was steep. Not that Jane just liked her due to her weight. Daria could've had the body of a starving African child or a woman bodybuilder and she would've still harbored an awkward crush on her. But, man, it was cute. Her softness made Janes face go red.

So did watching her eat, which Daria was doing as Jane was thinking. She didn't eat in a particularly interesting way. It was utensil to mouth, chew, and swallow, and she wasn't notably sloppy or dainty about it. It was just enjoyable. And Jane got to indulge in the habit of watching Daria eat a lot. Daily, she'd quietly watch as Daria ate greasy slices of pizza, pulling the cheese away from her mouth. When she stayed at her house for dinner she got to watch her vacantly eat frozen lasagne and ignore her mothers ramblings. One morning they'd gone out for donuts, and Jane got to see Daria eating _two_ simultaneously, one in each hand. It was almost comical. Didn’t stop Jane from savoring the image, however.

It was like she had a file cabinet in her brain. An array of mental photographs tucked away in some kind of filing system. Jane would lie in her bed and flick though them. “Daria that one time she changed her clothes with her back towards you at a sleepover.”, “Daria when she wears that one shirt thats a little too small so whenever she moves a band of soft, white flesh is exposed”, “Daria in shorts.” Then she’d hope that the serial killer hiding in her closet wasn't also a mind reader. 

"Do you have any milk?" Jane's thoughts were interrupted by Daria's request. "This cake is dry as hell."

"Er, let me check." She replied, lifting herself up from her chair at the table, and making her way over to the refrigerator. To Jane's surprise, someone (she wasn't sure who) had bought a carton of milk. She quickly retrieved a glass from the cabinet and filled it most of the way to the top before setting it down in front of Daria. She decided to leave the carton out.

"Thanks" Daria said, it was nearly to her mouth before Jane had sat back down. She looked past the brim of the glass at Jane, making eye contact from behind her glasses. She swallowed. The glass was half empty. "Are you gonna keep sitting there watching me eat or what?" she said. Jane noticed that while she was zoning out, Daria had finished the slice. She shook her head, not knowing what to say. Subtle, Lane. 

Jane wasn't as surprised as she should've been when Daria picked the knife up again, cutting herself another equally large slice. 

“No food at home? I hear those lawyer salaries really stretch people thin.”

Daria looked like she may have had a comeback, but the large wad of cake in her mouth made it hard to reply. She always looked so unimpressed by what she was eating and she kept her pinkish lips slightly pursed as she chewed. 

It was about the subtleties, Jane thought. She’d think about Daria’s thighs rubbing together under her skirt as she walked or she’d think about the size of her underwear, and that was enough. The fantasies never went past her underwear, as if her own mind was teen rated. 

There was this one particular fantasy she kept returning to. Daria would be lying on her bed, the bright red of Jane’s comforter contrasting her milky pale skin. She was always in her underwear. Jane had to work extra hard to glue together the mental image, combining little pieces of memories to picture it properly. She assumed that Daria wore black underwear. Her round thighs pushed the legholes of her panties up, her stomach pushed the top hem down. Sometimes she was blushing and looking away, sometimes she was giving Jane her Mona Lisa smile from underneath her, sometimes her round glasses were pushed up into her bangs, sometimes they were foggy. Her brown hair would stop at the top of her breasts, covering her bra straps and some of the pillow behind her. Maybe her breasts were spilling out of her bra, maybe her bra had a little bow decorating the front, maybe her underwear had a bow too.

Her skin was always, _always_, smooth and soft and warm. Fantasy world Jane would run her hand up and down her body, her waist, her stomach, her thighs. Sometimes she’d plant a kiss on her flesh, and they’d both let out a small, awkward laugh about the red lipstick stain. Sometimes she would run her fingers along the angry marks left from tight clothes, sometimes she would snap the elastic waistband of her underwear. Daria would place a delicate hand on Jane’s toned abdomen. Maybe that’s what she found attractive, the difference between Daria’s body and her own. Jane was hard, her hips were boyish and her chest was flat, angular, all straight lines. Daria was soft, all her lines were curved. Whenever Daria pressed down on Jane, she could feel the muscle or bone. Whenever Jane pressed her hand anywhere on Daria’s body, she would feel soft, pillowy flesh.

Jane never let herself get past that. She couldn’t bring herself to remove her underwear, to slip a finger in, to unhook her bra. She’d draw Daria, like this and similar to it, over and over in the personal sketchbook she kept under her bed. Her curvature drawn permanently in pencil, hidden away in an old Dr Martens shoebox with a Bratmobile sticker on it. 

The sound of a glass hitting the kitchen table made Jane wake up from her daydreams. Daria had finished the milk; she licked away the small stain of white around her lips absent-mindedly. She looked on vacantly, like she was deep in thought. Jane noticed that the slice of cake was only half gone, the area on her plate where the rest had been was littered with crumbs and smeared with bright, pink icing. Daria pushed her glasses up her nose before deciding to pick the silver fork up again, tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear while doing so. 

She brought it to her mouth, closed it, and pulled the fork out. Remnants of sweet icing colored the fork, the shade of rose clashing with the silver. It clanked as she set it down to chew. 

Jane, for no discernible reason, scooped a finger of icing off the cake to taste it. It was cloyingly sweet, and the vanilla taste wrapped itself around her tongue.

”I thought you said you weren’t hungry?” Daria asked after swallowing thickly.

”I’m not,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Daria quirked a brow before taking in another mouthful. They returned to the previous silence. 

Was anyone home? Trent and his bandmates? Jane thought. The scene they would stumble onto if they entered the kitchen would be mildly embarrassing. Here she was, ogling at her chubby best friend eating cake. Did Trent know? He was always good at picking up “vibes”, as he called them. What would he say if he knew? Probably some stupid comment about her “nice tits”. He’d probably ask “why Daria?”. She could practically hear him. “Woah Janie, it’s cool that you like chicks and all but uh,” he'd pause and scratch the back of his head, refusing to make eye contact with his sister. “why Daria?”. 

_“Why Daria?”_

“Why Daria?” was a question Jane couldn’t answer. 

“I think I’m finished.” Daria declared. The plate was empty. “I’d like to stay and maybe watch TV or something, but my mother’s probably expecting me.”

Jane nodded as they both stood up, leaving the aftermath of the afternoon on the table. They said their goodbyes at the door, Jane waved as Daria walked down the driveway. She pretended not to notice the car dipping under her weight. She pretended she wasn’t watching as she drove away. 

She made her way back to the kitchen to clean up the little bit of mess. She placed the milk back into its place in the refrigerator. Just as she took the plates to the sink to wash them, Trent entered.

”What time is it?” He asked lazily, leaning against the doorframe.

”2pm” Jane replied. She went to roll up her blazer sleeves so she could wash the dishes, but then realized she always had them rolled to her elbows.

Trent noticed the cake on the table.

”You and Daria had cake?” He asked, yawning.

”No, she did.” She said, dunking the dish in soapy water and scrubbing.

A look of confusion crossed Trent’s sleepy face.

Jane smiled to herself as she set Daria’s plate on the drying rack by the sink. 


End file.
